The sect gates loomed tall behind her, their carved inscriptions glinting under the midday sun. Yun Qingxue stepped past them, her expression placid, her every movement poised.
The path before her wound down into the valley, leading to the market—a place where disciples bartered, traded, and whispered of things beyond cultivation. A place she had no real reason to visit.
And yet, here she was.
It wasn't curiosity that brought her here. Nor was it indulgence.
It was observation.
⸻
The outer sect market was a clash of voices, scents, and movement. Stalls stretched in neat rows, their owners shouting over one another—selling talismans, refining stones, jade slips with half-baked techniques.
Disciples haggled in clusters, robes swaying with every heated negotiation. The air smelled of ink and incense, of spirit herbs and damp parchment.
Yun moved through it like an idle observer, her gaze sweeping over the crowd with quiet interest.
It was a world she did not belong to.
And yet, here, without her name attached to her, she was just another girl in white robes.
No bows. No rehearsed pleasantries. No masked flattery.
She had spent her life mastering the art of presence. The right tilt of the head, the precise softness in her gaze—these were weapons, sharper than any blade.
Yet now, she walked unnoticed, her existence irrelevant to those around her.
Fascinating.
⸻
She stopped at a stall where aged scrolls were stacked in careful disorder.
A boy in blue robes stood beside her, his fingers hovering over an old jade slip. He was young, perhaps newly accepted into the sect, his face still untouched by hardship.
Yun reached for a scroll.
Before her fingertips could graze the parchment, a hand shot out, stopping her.
A sneer.
She lifted her gaze.
The boy stared at her, unimpressed, his posture casual in the way only the ignorant could afford. "That's not for someone like you," he said.
Yun blinked, tilting her head.
"Someone like me?" she echoed, voice light.
His eyes swept over her robes.
"You're a nobody," he said simply. "Don't touch things you can't afford."
Ah.
Her lashes fluttered. A moment passed in silence.
Then—she smiled.
A gentle thing.
A thing with teeth.
⸻
She did not move from her spot.
The boy's confidence wavered, but he doubled down, shifting his weight as if expecting her to back away.
Yun did not.
Instead, she looked at the stall owner—a middle-aged man with tired eyes who had been watching the exchange unfold in wary silence.
"How much?" she asked, voice as light as drifting petals.
The merchant hesitated.
The boy scoffed. "She's wasting your time. She—"
Yun reached into her sleeve.
A small, delicate bag of gold clinked against the stall's wooden surface.
Silence.
The boy's mouth parted slightly.
The merchant, to his credit, remained composed. "Five small spirtual stone," he said, testing.
She placed ten.
"Ah…" The merchant cleared his throat. "I—"
"Wrap it," she said kindly.
The man moved swiftly.
The boy beside her bristled. His face twisted with something she had seen countless times before—embarrassment trying to shape itself into anger.
"You—"
"Me?" Yun hummed.
She picked up the scroll. Unwrapped it. Ran a finger over its frayed edges, unimpressed.
Then, with a thoughtful hum—she turned and handed it to the boy.
A gift.
A dismissal.
A game-ending move.
The boy stared at her, confused.
Slowly, Yun leaned in, close enough that only he could hear her next words.
"Next time," she murmured, "when you pick a fight, make sure you know who you're looking down on."
Then—she smiled.
And walked away.
⸻
She had expected that to be the end of it.
She should have known better.
The boy had a temper. And the weak-willed, when wounded, often sought comfort in numbers.
So it was no surprise when a group of disciples stopped her at the end of the street.
Five. No, six.
All wearing the same outer sect robes.
She exhaled slowly.
How tiring.
The boy from before stood at the center, his face pulled tight with frustration. "You think you're clever?" he spat. "You think you can mock me?"
Yun tilted her head, amused. "Did I mock you?"
"You—"
One of the others stepped forward, taller, broader. His cultivation was shallow, but not nonexistent.
"Hand over your storage ring," he ordered. "And we'll let you walk away."
Ah. So it was like that.
Yun considered them.
There were people watching now—other market-goers, lower-ranked disciples, a handful of merchants who had begun packing their stalls, sensing conflict.
She lowered her lashes.
It would be so easy to cut this short.
A name. A single word. The moment they realized who she was, they'd crumble beneath their own panic.
But where was the fun in that?
⸻
The moment the taller disciple moved, she let it happen.
A grip on her wrist, tight but inexperienced. A tug, an attempt to unbalance her.
She allowed it.
For a single heartbeat.
Then, with the grace of something far more dangerous than they could comprehend, she moved.
A shift. A twist. A step.
And just like that, the disciple was kneeling.
His arm was bent back, his breath hitched in pain. Not broken. Not harmed. Just… restrained.
Silence.
The other disciples tensed.
She could feel the weight of their hesitation—the way they had expected this to be an easy thing.
It was not.
Yun exhaled, voice barely above a whisper.
"Shhh," she said. "You're making a scene."
And that was when they realized.
Too late.
Too slow.
That this was not a nobody.
This was something else entirely.
She released the kneeling disciple with a flick of her wrist. He scrambled back, wide-eyed.
Yun smiled at the rest of them.
"Go," she said simply.
They went.
The market noise resumed in cautious murmurs.
Yun adjusted her sleeve, her expression smooth, untouched.
The outer disciples had scurried off, some pretending nothing had happened, others throwing her wary glances. Fearful. Hesitant. But not yet useful.
No, fear alone wouldn't make them talk. But fear… laced with uncertainty? That was a different matter.
Yun's gaze swept the thinning crowd. Then, with a soft breath, she stepped forward—not to leave, but to linger.
She moved as though unbothered, stopping at a tea vendor's stall, her delicate fingers tracing the rim of a ceramic cup.
Silence is a game.
It makes people restless.
And sure enough—they spoke first.
"…Did you see that?" a voice whispered.
"She wasn't supposed to be that strong, was she?"
A light laugh left Yun's lips. She turned slightly, as if amused by something in the distance, letting her presence settle like an afterthought.
But her ears remained sharp.
"She's new to the outer sect, isn't she?"
"Yeah, but… I heard she got special treatment from the resource halls."
Yun's eyes lowered, thoughtful. There it is.
The start of a thread.
Another voice scoffed. "That's because of her connections. Probably some inner sect backing. They always get more than they deserve."
Resentment.
Petty, simmering, and so very easy to mold.
Yun let a few more moments pass before she turned, meeting the speaker's gaze. A young disciple. Weak-willed, the type who spoke big in whispers but wilted under direct attention.
She smiled. "What do you mean?"
The boy stiffened, as if just realizing she had heard.
"Ah, I—" He hesitated. Looked around. Then, emboldened by the lingering crowd, straightened his spine. "I mean, it's obvious, isn't it? Some of us have to struggle for every contribution point, but others just—"
He gestured vaguely at her.
Yun tilted her head, her eyes soft with curiosity. "Who decides these things?"
That gave him pause.
"…The elders," he muttered.
Yun hummed. "Which one?"
Silence.
Then—"Elder Han," someone else supplied.
She had no reaction, only nodding lightly, as if the answer was expected.
Inside, though, she was already picking apart the information.
Elder Han. Rank 2.
The outer sect had many elders, but if this one had enough influence to distribute resources, then…
Yun's fingers trailed over the rim of her tea cup once more.
It made sense.
A Rank 2 elder wouldn't care about a mere outer disciple's cultivation—unless she was getting something they wanted.
So that was it.
Not personal hatred. Not some elaborate scheme.
Just greed.
She was receiving resources they believed should be theirs.
Yun exhaled softly, setting her cup down with a gentle clink.
How disappointing.
She had expected more.
But if this was all it took for someone to bare their fangs at her, then she'd snap them before they even had the chance to bite.
And she'd start with the one thing all sect elders feared most.
Public opinion.